4. Scars
Gabriel looked down sympathetically at the boy in front of him, still on his hands and knees and gagging for air. The blue tinge on his lips was starting to fade, only to be replaced by a blush of pink across his cheeks and ears. The boy was making quite an effort of not making eye contact, instead focusing on the gritty concrete floor and panting like an animal.
When people imagine how they would want to die, it is usually in their own bed, surrounded by their loved ones. Maybe for those who die of illness or old age, this is the best way to go. Gabriel had read stories of passers-by coming across strangers who had been injured in accidents. They told how the dying person wanted nothing more than to hold their hand, to hear their voice, to know that as they crossed the boundary from Life into Death they were not alone.
Suicide is something quite different. The last thing anyone wants (apart from a few show-offs) is an audience as they end their own life. It is deeply private, the same instinct that compels animals to haul themselves off to a quiet corner to die in peace. That’s what amused Gabriel the most: more than anything, this other boy was embarrassed. He had been caught in an intimate time, as if his mother had walked in on him at a crucial moment of enjoying ‘Horny Asian Babes’ or perhaps - as Gabriel pondered hopefully - ‘Hot Euro Hunks’.
Gabriel edged closer. Too much and he might scare the boy away. Still no eye contact. He seemed to visibly crumple into himself, and Gabriel felt a pang of pity. No, not pity. Empathy. The dark haired boy looked how he had felt a thousand times. Anger, humiliation, and sheer, devastating disappointment.
“That was fairly brave,” Gabriel offered. The best way to break the ice, he had found, was to start with a compliment.
No response.
“I mean, hanging yourself can take a while, especially if the noose isn’t in the right place. It can take ages. And I’ve heard it can be quite painful. Unless you‘re lucky enough to break your neck, but that doesn‘t happen very often, apparently…”
Still nothing. Gabriel went for a different tack.
“I hear asphyxiation’s a turn on. You know, gives you a thrill. Some kinky bastards like it, can’t get hard unless they’re swinging from the rafters. Unless it goes wrong… Then the only thing that’s stiff is the perve himself. Personally, I think there are better ways to get off…” Gabriel accompanied this with a sly grin. It went unnoticed. This boy was hard work.
“Course, wouldn’t give you many points for execution. Hah, so to speak. I mean, nobody hangs themself with a tatty old bit of string. And this alley’s in plain sight, anybody could’ve stopped you.”
The dark haired boy began to move, shifting his weight back onto his legs. He stood, his leg muscles quivering like a newborn gazelle, and made his way in a not-quite-straight line back towards the street, deftly avoiding even acknowledging Gabriel was there.
Gabriel scrambled for something. “I saw you at the bridge,” he called to the boy’s back.
The other boy stopped mid-step, and Gabriel silently thanked whatever he believed in.
“Why are you stalking me?” the dark boy asked, turning back round so that it was now his eyes the purple fly-zapper flashed against. Behind him, a sports car screeched dangerously along the dark yellow street.
“I’m not stalking you! I was just curious,” Gabriel shrugged. Even as he said the words, the little mini-Gabriel in his head squeaked ‘You are such a stalker, you freak!’. “I mean, when I saw you standing there, I knew what you were there for. You wanted to jump, didn’t you?”
The boy’s guard seemed to be slipping. Gabriel could see him arguing with himself whether or not to answer. His mouth fought against itself to say, simply, “How did you know?”
Gabriel shrugged and took a step closer, like a pawn on a chess board. “I was there for the same reason. I wanted to jump. I want to kill myself.” Gabriel was sure to put that last sentence in the present tense.
Again, he saw the other boy struggle internally. Eventually he shook his head, “Whatever,” and turned back to the street.
Gabriel ran. He hated that he looked so desperate, but this chance was not going to pass him by so easily, not without a fight. He reached for the boy’s arm and pulled him around roughly. The boy protested and pulled his arm free. But he didn’t walk away. Gabriel quickly wrenched up the left sleeve of his zip-up, then rolled the t-shirt sleeve underneath into a bundle on his elbow. Then he held is arm straight in front, palm upwards.
On the smooth underside of Gabriel’s arm, roughly along the vein, was a smooth pink scar, five inches long. This was not a ‘cry for help’ scar, but one that said ‘I mean business’. It was raised slightly, and although well-healed, couldn’t have been more than a few months old. Goosebumps started to rise against the cold air.
Gabriel observed the other boy’s eyes trailing back and forth along it. It seemed to have convinced him that Gabriel was serious.
“I want to kill myself,” Gabriel repeated. “And from what I can see, so do you.”
The boy was silent, motionless. Gabriel rolled his sleeve back down as he spoke. “I can help you. I mean,” he motioned his head back toward the scaffolding, “you’re not exactly doing a good job on your own.”
The boy creased his forehead and fingered at the string around his throat. “Yeah, well, I’d say you didn’t exactly do a good job either, seeing as you’re still walking around and all.”
“Well, I’m not the one hanging myself with a shoddy bit of string,” Gabriel said, cocking up a thick dark eyebrow. “Here, let me help you get that string off.” He reached up to the boy’s throat.
The boy flinched and took a step backwards. “S’okay,” he mumbled, “don’t bother.”
“It’ll chafe. And it’s not really in fashion. Come on, I won’t shut up till you let me,” Gabriel grinned.
The boy slumped a little. “Fine…” he mumbled, and turned around.
“Don’t worry,” said Gabriel, reaching up to the back of the boys neck. “I won’t strangle you or anything. Unless you want me to?” Gabriel thought he heard what could have been a half laugh. The light was poor, and the boy was a couple of inches taller, so he leaned in close to see what he was doing.
“How… how do you want to do it..?” the other boy asked.
Gabriel’s fingers worked around the tight little knots. He could see the mist of his breath vanishing onto the boys neck. “Well, the bridge is out of the question, at least til morning. I’ve always fancied an overdose. I like the idea of just… going to sleep and not waking up, I suppose.” He kept pulling at frayed bits of plastic until the whole thing eventually slipped off, leaving a clear dark red mark underneath.
The boy rubbed the raw skin and nodded in appreciation. “So… why do you need me? Why don’t you just do it by yourself?”
Gabriel smiled enigmatically. “I uh, might have a problem getting the raw materials. You help me get the stuff, I help you not to wake up in the morning with a really bad hangover. Besides, what else you gonna do? Sleep in the park and freeze to death?”
The other boy looked down at his toes. “I suppose so…”
“Brilliant! We’ll get it done in no time, don’t worry.” Gabriel stuck out his hand. “My name’s Gabe by the way.”
The other boy hesitated for a beat, then shook his hand. “Mike.”
“Pleasure doing business with you, Mike,” Gabriel smiled.
Gabriel and Michael walked back out into the glare of the streetlights. “You know, if you don’t mind me saying,” Gabriel remarked, “it’s a shame you’re gonna be dead soon. You’re quite cute.”
Michael didn’t respond. Gabriel watched him rubbing his neck out of the corner of his eye, and caught a glimpse of a smile.
